Stress Relief
by Alja
Summary: How does Brigadier General Roy Mustang cope with stress after a long, tiring day at work? And does his Lieutenant approve of his approach?


**Summary:** How does Brigadier General Roy Mustang cope with stress after a long, tiring day at work? And does his Lieutenant approve of his approach?

 **Disclaimer:** All characters belong to Hiromu Arakawa

 **Please enjoy!**

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Brigadier General Roy Mustang inserted the keys into the door without looking; one rough turn and a tug granted him access to the small house he was inhabiting.

The light in the tiny living room was turned on, as presumed – he had sent his roommate home two hours ago himself.

With a grunt, he passed quickly to one of the cabinets at the back, roaming through the drawers until he found exactly what he was looking for. Satisfied with his haul, he eased out of his coat, opened the first four buttons on his shirt and flopped into the big, comfortable armchair, aligning his collected items on the coffee table right in front of him. He fingered the long cigar he had retrieved for a second before he brought it to his nose.

It smelled _so_ good.

He inserted his right forefinger into the loop of the cigar cutter when he heard the door of the adjacent bathroom open and felt a warm waft of air swirl around his neck.

"Don't smoke."

He didn't react and proceeded to cut of the tip of the cigar, brushing the remnants off into the ashtray.

He considered lighting his cigar with a well-trained snap of his fingers, but something held him back; instead, he poured some Bourbon into the cheap glasses they had been issued for their stay in the desert and leaned back into the armchair, cigar dangling between two of his fingers.

"Sir," his roommate tried again, this time with more force, appearing in his line of sight, nearly causing him to drop the glass as he took in the sight in front of him.

Roy's first lieutenant stood before him, clad only in a short bathrobe – one he was sure Rebecca had secretly exchanged before their departure to Ishval. Her dripping wet hair sprawled around her shoulders as one drop dripped from her bangs onto her collarbone and slid slowly lower into an area he'd better keep his eyes away from – for safety reasons.

"I thought you were nearly finished with your work?," she inquired and sat down across from him on the second armchair they possessed – a couch wouldn't have fit into the room anymore.

"Turned out I wasn't," he simply shrugged and brought the glass to his lips, his eyes never abandoning hers.

"I waited for you."

"In your bathrobe?"

Riza shifted her glance to the cigar in his hands, her post-shower blush not betraying any embarrassment his question might have raised in her.

"Don't smoke. And put that Bourbon away."

"Why?" he challenged her with a raised eyebrow.

"It's bad for you."

"It's a way to cope with stress."

The blonde snorted as she folded her arms in front of her chest. "Don't you know any other way to do it?"

"I do – but it would be rather inappropriate for me to name it to you considering your state of dress." A smirk found its way onto his lips despite of all the hardships the day had thrust upon him. It didn't go unnoticed by her.

"Try me."

"Sex," he stated bluntly and stared deep into the caramel eyes across the room.

"Figures," she answered him nonchalantly and her eyes bored into his as she crossed her legs deliberately, daring him to drop his gaze. He didn't – although it took all of his willpower.

"But it's not an option right now," he gasped slightly while his heart picked up its pace.

"You are right," Riza nodded, eyes unfocussed for a second, "The Ishvalans have not yet returned to their homeland, so there are no beautiful women to pick from. No women to date and to take home for the night. Just a bunch of soldiers trying to fix what they had destroyed in the first place."

"That's not the problem," Roy mumbled indignantly, fingers drumming on the armrest of the chair

"What is it, then?" she urged him to continue as she stood up again to round the coffee table to stand next to him.

"There is a woman right in front of my eyes every day," he responded, his eyes trained on the honey-colored liquid inside of the glass in his hands, "I may yearn for stress relief right now, especially with said woman, but," he hesitated, fumbling with the cigar in his hand again, "but it's not what I want us to be. She's not someone to relieve my stress with. To get into bed to have some fun without commitment. She's the person -," he took a deep breath, mentally preparing himself for his next words.

"She's the person I want to make _love_ to."

Both cringed.

Their relationship had never been easy to describe. And love was certainly not a word they had used up until now.

They had been the Master's pupil and daughter a long time ago, feelings started to blossom quickly between the teens, though they only consumed them the night before Roy had to leave for military academy.

After that, he hadn't dared to touch her again, not until both yearned for an anchor in the depths of the very desert they were residing in now, filled with blood and death all around. It was all they could do to retain a small friction of humanity, to assure themselves they were still human beings capable of feeling something, anything.

The return to Amestris meant a new chapter in their lives. They had vowed to keep their hands off of each other, to concentrate on the goal both shared. To make Amestris a better place. To right what was wrong. He knew he had certainly taken his liberty in meeting other women; even though the spy network was a crucial part of it, his playboy reputation didn't come out of the blue.

He didn't know whether this was the same case for her; he figured she must have met a man or two in all those years, but as soon as he elaborated on the thought, he always found himself waking up in the bed of some blonde he had called by the wrong name _again._

It wasn't until the death of his best friend last year that both found themselves in each other's embrace again. She was the only person anchoring him yet again to the earth, to life itself before he lost his sanity. They had one or two additional, clandestine meetings before the unavoidable separation by King Bradley had been issued. They had secretly met back then, but they still had been in control of themselves.

Until the Promised Day.

Control had crumbled away the second Roy regained his sight and crushed his lips against his Lieutenant's, forgetting the presence of Dr. Marcoh at all.

After that, he had spent every night of Riza's leave of absence in her apartment – to tend to her wounds, he told her and she had known he lied, but she never protested. Their intimate togetherness ended abruptly a month later. Riza returned to work and they prepared to move to Ishval; neither dared to mention the intimacy both missed greatly.

And now they were together in this tiny living room.

He sat on his armchair, she had lowered herself onto the armrest, fingers absentmindedly playing with her now damp hair.

"Make love, huh?" Riza finally uttered, her eyes not focusing on anything. Silence embraced the pair – and it suddenly made Roy very uncomfortable.

"I'm sorry."

He leaned forward abruptly, nearly causing Riza to fall off the armchair, and laid down the cigar and glass back onto the table.

"I'm not myself tonight. I shouldn't have brought this up."

A soft hand on his chest made him freeze. He hesitantly looked up to her and met her gaze – she seemed to struggle for words.

Both looked into each other's eyes for a while before Riza slid down from the armrest onto Roy's lap, never losing eye-contact. Finally, she burrowed her face in his neck, her arms snaking around his torso as his arms did the same to her.

Sitting like that, breathing in the scent of her favorite cherry shampoo and holding the soft body close to him, Roy decided that this was definitely better than his initial plans.


End file.
